


Keeping count

by figaro



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Breathplay, Challenge Response, Choking, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figaro/pseuds/figaro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim likes being choked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping count

Sometimes Tim wants to play rough, rougher than Jason would have ever expected. Sometimes Tim wants to be taken over a little bit. Sometimes Tim wants to be held down.  
  
Sometimes Jason holds Tim down by his throat.  
  
Jason counts the seconds. Tim and he both have had expert training in holding their breath, but there’s a difference between holding your breath and having it held for you. There’s _definitely_ a difference when having it held while being naked and hard, with someone buried deep inside you. It can be easy to…trail off, to let the lack of oxygen work with you, instead of against you; to accept the black instead of fighting it. And so Jason keeps track for Tim.  
  
Jason’s barely moving, only rocking his hips a little; enough to remind Tim he’s stretched and full. He’s got his focus on Tim’s racing heart with one hand, on his throat with the other, his thumb refusing blood to reach Tim’s brain. Ten more seconds of that and Tim will pass out. Jason pushes it, doesn’t let up the pressure on Tim’s jugular until they’re down to two. Tim’s so close, he’ll come any minute if the speed his hand is moving with on his cock is anything to go by, and the blacker it is when he comes—the sweeter the darkness, the stronger his orgasm.  
  
Jason presses down harder on Tim’s windpipe instead, squeezes, feels Tim’s chest heave with aborted breaths, sees the color on his face deepen just a little bit more.  
  
Twenty-five seconds left before entering territory where there’s risk of permanent damage.  
  
Tim’s fighting for his orgasm, his hand nearly spastic on his cock, but Jason can tell he’s so close to drifting now, so close to being _gone_ , he slaps Tim’s hand aside and takes over; a rough, hand-blurring pace, something that probably _hurts_ , but all Tim does is arch his back and there—there.  
  


The squeeze around the base of Jason’s cock is _brutal_ and he retaliates without meaning to, increasing the pressure on both Tim’s cock and neck for a second, before letting up the choke entirely, sliding his hand to the back of Tim’s neck and cupping firmly—and watches him fall apart, a gasp so sharp Jason can _hear_ how much it must hurt, then another, and another; lungs filling without emptying in between, filling to the point of bursting—

  
Then Tim is yelling; jerking like he’s being electrocuted, coming over his stomach and chest, hitting his _neck_ , and all Jason can do is watch. It’s beautiful—and fucking _terrifying—_ to see, and Jason’s pretty sure he’ll never get tired of it.  
  
Jason knows they’re playing with fire—every ragged gasp music to Jason’s ears, quiet relief flooding through him—but he knows Tim knows this as well, and knows that as long as Tim wants this, Jason will keep on giving. Not often, but when Tim _needs_ , Jason provides, and when _Jason_ needs, Tim shifts, wraps tired legs around Jason’s hips in silent encouragement, and gives right back.


End file.
